


You're My Kill of the Night

by reina_inefable



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: :))), M/M, Ryan can see demons, Shane is a badass, Slow Burn, demon hunter AU, just bear with me pls, not too graphic but just in case, rating for the language, theres some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-02-28 07:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13266384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reina_inefable/pseuds/reina_inefable
Summary: “You… hunt demons. For a living.”“Yes, we’ve established that.”“You’re shitting me.”“Nope. That’s me. Demon-hunter Shane Madej.”-----------------The demon hunting AU that no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey whats up yall I was listening to gin wigmore and on impulse I got an idea so here we are,, a big shoutout 2 my lack of sleep for allowing me 2 write this
> 
> god look at me. writing rpf. shane and ryan if ur here I'm so sorry and ashamed
> 
> I drew a lot of inspiration from crazyhead and a little from supernatural
> 
> title comes from the song by gin wigmore "kill of the night." before reading this, I suggest you listen to that song first if you want to know what the Mood for this chapter is (by no means is it necessary tho)
> 
> that being said, enjoy!

10:39PM read the clock in the monitor in tiny black letters on the corner of the screen. The glow from the desktop dimly illuminated Ryan’s face and cast a blurry reflection off his glasses, a sharp contrast to the pitch-black darkness in the rest of the office. Another day (or night) of working overtime to be in time for deadlines.

Ryan closed the open pages, sent one last email, and turned off the computer. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes; they were severely strained from staring at the monitor for hours in the dark. This was his life now. Working 50-hour weeks for a shitty salary, most of which was spent on his shitty one-room apartment and caffeine, because everything was absurdly overpriced in LA. Hell, he couldn't even afford a goddamned car. Fuck LA.

There was a light drizzle outside, Ryan noticed as he put on his jacket, and a full moon. It offered  enough light to see his way home. He frowned as he noticed that the street was oddly deserted, and the only sounds came from the distant honking of traffic and the soft pitter-patter of the rain. He shrugged it off; he was just tired and paranoid.

A black car sped pat him as he rounded a corner, and like a scene from a movie, it ran over a puddle and splattered Ryan with muddy water.

Ryan’s face contorted into a deep scowl. “Fuck you, asshole!” he squawked at the car, though it was too far by then to have heard Ryan’s protests. Whatever. He still flipped his middle finger at it, and called out, “Go to hell!”

Fuming, he turned on his heel and cleaned his glasses on his damp t-shirt.

When he got home, he’d take a hot bath and order too-much Chinese takeout. Then he would watch a scary movie, something like _Paranormal Activity_ or _The Conjuring._ Something to keep him awake all night. Tomorrow _was_ his day off, anyways.

A man fell into step with Ryan across the street. Ryan was grateful for the company, because walking alone in the street at night was never something he could do confidently, no matter how many times he had done it before. At least another soul in sight gave him a little more sense of security. He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded at the other man, waiting for a nod in return.

Ryan gasped audibly: the man had solid, black eyes that shone glossily in the pale moonlight. He stumbled when he blinked several times only to see that the man had… _horns_ sprouting from his forehead, ones that curled backwards and ended in a sharp point just above the ear. 

_No, Ryan, you're being paranoid. It’s dark, you're tired, and your mind is playing tricks on you. Or maybe your glasses are just dirty._

He rubbed his eyes and removed his glasses. He tentatively peeked at the man, who now looked perfectly normal.

_You’re being paranoid._

That was a phrase that seemed to have followed him his entire life. Whenever he felt he was being watched, whenever he felt that there was another inhumane presence in a room, whenever he thought he heard a disembodied voice speaking to him, that’s what they always told him. So that’s what he did. He blamed it on his paranoia.

But now, as Ryan discreetly looked over his shoulder, it seemed that the phrase was not the only thing following him.

The man was a couple feet behind him now, much too close for Ryan’s comfort. He straightened himself up, his face now clearly visible, and his eyes turned black. The hairs on the back of his neck stood.

Ryan quickened his pace, looking away and trying to stop his heart from bursting out of his chest. He felt his breathing become irregular, his hands begin to tremble, his forehead begin to perspire.

 _Be rational,_ he told himself. If he thought he was being followed, he should go around in circles, right? Isn't that what people always say? He decided to go left twice, and the man did as well. 

_Okay, calm down, maybe that was just a coincidence._

The man was even closer, close enough that if he were to turn around and reach out he would have touched the horns sprouting from his head. There was _no way_ that he was just being paranoid now. Those were fucking _real._

As if on cue, the dingy streetlamp went out, and following his every instinct, Ryan broke into a run. 

He rounded another street corner, skittering across the slippery sidewalk, adrenaline pumping through his veins, not daring to look back. It’s not like he needed to, though, since he could hear the steady stomping behind him.

Ryan kept running as fast as he could, crossing streets randomly and taking shortcuts he shouldn’t take and rounding corners without knowing where they led to until his legs gave way. In his despair, he’d ended up in a street he didn't know, under a flickering streetlamp, panting and wet and fucking _scared_.

He swallowed. At least he was alone. He couldn't hear any ominous footsteps; he seemed to have lost his stalker. 

A cold hand brusquely grabbed him by the jacket and he shrieked loudly, a knot forming in his throat. He was pinned to a grimy wall, the hand pushing him against it with unearthly strength.

Ryan struggled, kicking and punching and screaming to no avail. The man seemed unfazed, rather annoyed, actually, and only shifted his hand from Ryan’s chest to his neck. Ryan whimpered and writhed, a pained expression upon his features as he felt his feet lift from the ground.

“I was going to be discreet about this,” the man snarled, “but since you wanna make the whole world know, then I guess I’ll really make you scream.”

He smiled a cruel smile full of pointed teeth and sized Ryan up. A small sob escaped Ryan’s chest as the man produced a sharp dagger from his pocket. It glinted in the ill-lit street, and Ryan caught a glimpse of himself in its silver, mirror-like surface. His face was paler than ever, his black hair matted down, his glasses nowhere to be seen. His eyes were filled with pure terror.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Are you scared of me?” he purred. He held up the dagger to the smaller man’s chest, just grazing his skin. “My, you are absolutely frightened. That's a lot of fear concentrated in such a small mass.”

Ryan felt naked. The man was staring daggers (heh) into him, past his clothes, past his skin, past everything and into his heart. He spat on him.

“Let me go,” Ryan choked out through gasps for air.

The man sneered. “You _reek_ fear.”

A tear rolled down his cheek. “Who are you?” His eyes trailed up to the horns. “What— what are you? What do you want from me?”

The man gave him a once over again. He pushed the dagger deeper, not enough to puncture the skin but enough to hurt.

“You heart.” He leaned in close to Ryan, who turned his face away. The silver lining was that at least he’d die knowing he was right in being paranoid.

A low cry escaped Ryan's lips as the tip of the dagger penetrated his skin. The bastard had the nerve to chuckle.

“Hey, jackass!”

The man’s head snapped to the side, looking for the source of the unknown voice.

Suddenly, the man was swept aside with a sickening crack. Ryan dropped to the sidewalk and doubled over coughing, one hand to his chest, the other to his throat.

Another man, this one blonde and wearing a red flannel and black boots, held a metal bat covered in stickers over his shoulder. “Get up, you coward!”

The first man stood slowly, growling. Black, spidery lines began to manifest on his face, first appearing near his eyes and spreading to the rest of his skin. He picked up the dagger and held it firmly, ready to attack.

 _Oh, shit_ , Ryan thought, _What did I get myself into?_ He gingerly attempted to get up and flee, but found that he couldn't. His, well, _everything_ hurt too much.

The blonde man casually stepped closer. “What's your name, demon?”

The man— the demon— laughed. “Why do you ask, you gonna exorcise me?” 

“What's your name?”

“My, the idiot’s really gonna try!”

The man swung his bat at the demon fiercely, who dodged the blow just barely. In response, the demon bared its teeth and threw its arm at the man with the dagger. It stumbled as the knife was promptly swatted away with the bat, and the man took this opportunity to strike the demon in the back of the head. Drops of black liquid flew in the air, some sprinkling the man in the face like freckles.

The demon dropped to the wet road, and the man kicked it over so that it faced up. He stepped on it in the chest, holding it firmly in place.

“Tell me your goddamned name, demon!”

“You can swing your little bat at me all you want but you can't kill me.”

The man stared at it in silence, almost disdainfully.

“You aren't afraid of me, I can tell,” the demon said, “You’re of no use to me. I should fuckin’ rip your guts out right now, just for the fun of it.”

He dropped the bat, a loud clattering sound in the quiet of the abandoned street.

The man took a flask from his belt and held it over the demon. He took a sip and spat it unceremoniously at the demon’s face.

It shrieked horribly, sounding more like an animal being burned than a human. A small cloud of smoke materialized around it, lasting as long as the light sizzling did.

“Fuck you!” it screeched. Faint echoes of its screams resonated through the street.

“There's plenty more from where that came from, buddy!” said the man, pouring more water over the demon. More hellish screaming.

_“Tell me your name!”_

The demon clawed at its face. “The name’s Marcus, you sonovabitch! Marcus!”

The man closed the flask, satisfied. He put it back in his belt, and kicked the demon on the side for good measure. It coughed.

All of this Ryan watched petrified by horror (and some physical disabilities), but in truth, he was also oddly fascinated.

The man held up a piece of paper. He picked up the bat from the ground and held it angled at the demon like a sword as he read from it.

_“Ego, Shane Madej, expuli vos, Marcus, ab hoc terrestri planum in sempiternum, et non revertetur! Infernus Ad In cuius cacumine, Marcus, in nomine Christi, et sanctus super omnes omnipotens Deus, ego, Shane Madej, præcipio tibi!”_

A light was emitted from the demon’s eyes and mouth, getting brighter and brighter until it disappeared completely, leaving nothing but a lifeless, rotting body behind. 

The man turned to look at Ryan, who was cowering against the wall.

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling down. There was concern written across his handsome face.

Ryan stared at him speechless, mouth slightly open, eyes as wide as the moon. He glanced his hand, which was covered in blood. His whole abdomen was red. “Just peachy,” he breathed out. He mentally slapped himself; now wasn't the time for sarcasm, especially not with the person who just saved his life.

To his surprise, the man smiled. “Can I see?” he said, gesturing to the wound. Ryan nodded warily. The man slowly lifted Ryan’s shirt and made a face. 

“That doesn't look too good. Lucky for you, I have some stuff in my car that can help you. Can you walk?’

Ryan attempted to stand once more, grimacing. He held on to the man’s shoulder as he straightened up and _woah_ , he was _way_ taller than him, by at least a foot. He took Ryan’s arm and put it around himself for support.

“My name’s Shane, by the way. Shane Madej.”

“R- Ryan Bergara.”

“A pleasure, Ryan,” Shane said. He bent over to pick up something. “I believe these are yours.” He put his glasses on him askew.

They made their way quietly across the street, Ryan still trying to make sense of what he’d just witnessed. Given how calm (or, rather, how he wasn't freaking the fuck out, because his heart was still going a mile a minute) he was, it was safe to say he was in a state of shock.

Shane’s car was an old, black Jeep with two doors and a large trunk. The inside was clean enough, an empty beer bottle on the cup-holder, some half-empty water bottles on the floor, and _Jesus,_ was that a gun on the floor?

Shane helped Ryan onto the passenger seat. 

“I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off, okay? I’m gonna get some stuff from the back.”

Ryan obeyed without protest. As soon the shirt was off, however, he lost it.

He passed his trembling hands over the vertical gash in his chest, and as he looked at the warm blood in his hand he whimpered and let out a sob.

“What the fuck,”he whispered, “What the fuck! _What the the fuck!_ Oh my God!” He pulled at his hair and let his tears run free.

Shane opened the door to the driver’s seat and sat, closing the door and dropping some materials between them. “Okay, so, uh, I’m not a doctor or anything, but I’ve had my fair share of—“

“What the fuck just happened?”

“Huh?”  

They met eyes for a second, and then Ryan groaned in frustration.

“What the fuck just happened, man! This is fucked up! Monumentally fucked up! First a goddamned stranger with horns mugs me and— and stabs me with a fucking dagger and and then you come out of nowhere and beat the shit out of him with a baseball bat! And then you— you exorcise the guy and left a fucking corpse in the middle of street— oh my god, a corpse— and now I’m getting in a car with another stranger in a goddamn _flannel_ and I’m supposed to let you fix my wound? _Fuck_ that, I’m going to a hospital! So, thank you, Shane, for saving my life or whatever, but unfortunately I’m not feeling particularly trusting at the moment.” 

He reached over to open the door, but it locked by itself before he could open it.

Shane grabbed Ryan’s shoulder, and he jerked away at the touch. “Hold on, did— did you say horns?”

Ryan frowned. “Yes?”

Shane gaped at him intently, as if he were a particularly enticing, yet puzzling sight he was trying to decipher. He shifted uncomfortably; he felt bare, once again.

After an eternity, Shane blinked away. He used a towel to clean Ryan’s abdomen, which was saturated with blood and dirt and rain. 

“How did you find me?” Ryan asked. 

Shane inhaled. “I, uh, okay. You’re clearly scared and confused and you have a lot of questions, so let’s make a deal.  I’ll explain everything, and answer all your questions if you let me help you out first. I can’t do anything about your wound if you're talking.” Ryan swallowed.

“Why don't you just take me to a— a freaking hospital or something?”

“I won’t answer any questions until I help you, so stay shut up and still,” Shane said, irritatedly.

He poured alcohol over the wound, and Ryan hissed. He wiped away the excess alcohol and inspected the gash. Then he put the towel over it and applied pressure.

“The good news,” he said absentmindedly, “is that it’s not a deep wound. It’s about less than half an inch deep. Bad news is it’s probably gonna leave a scar. Pretty damn cool scar if you asked me, though.”

Ryan couldn't help but scoff.

“I’m gonna need you to trust me now, okay? I’m gonna give you a couple of stitches, and it’s going to hurt because I don't have any anesthesia just lying around—“

“You don't have anesthesia but you have a gun just lying here?”

“What? Oh, damn, I thought I put that in the back with the rest.”

“There’s _more_?”

“Well in my line of work, it’s kind of a necessity.”

“Your line of—“

“I’m going to start sewing, now.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. Shane took some silver, metallic string and put it through a regular sewing needle.

“So you're just gonna sew me up like a doll? With that?”

Shane raised his eyebrows, a grin dancing on his lips. “I’d like to remind you, Ryan Bergara, that I’m offering my services to you for free. Now stop complaining.”

The sewing itself wasn't as horribly painful as Ryan had predicted. Shane made 4 stitches in total, as gently as he could considering how much Ryan squirmed as he made them. When he was done, he taped a gauze over the wound with regular tape.

“All done.” He smiled a big dopey smile. 

“Thanks.”  They stared at each other for a beat. It was strangely intimate.

“Anyways, um,” Shane said, turning on the car, “I guess you have questions.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “Yes, but first you don't happen to have an extra shirt I could, um, use?”

Shane patted himself and looked at the backseat. Then he unbuttoned his flannel and handed it to Ryan. Under it he wore a faded gray t-shirt.

“Here, put this on. I just remembered I don't have any clean clothes.Where do you live?”

“Thanks. You know the apartment complex just down Sixth?”

“That shithole? Oh shit, sorry.”

Ryan looked out the window as he carefully put on the shirt. “Nah, I agree, its shitty. Can't say its as shitty as this flannel, though.”

Shane sneaked a glance at Ryan. “Shut up, Ryan. Flannels are great.”

 

———————

 

“Cozy,” Shane said as he settled in a stool from the kitchen counter. Ryan hummed. It was cramped, if anything. “Do you have tea?”

“I might.”

He put a kettle to boil and a coffee pot to brew, then handed his considerably taller companion a paper towel, who frowned questioningly. “You’ve got demon blood, all over your face,” Ryan explained, waving a finger at his Shane’s face.

“Do I? Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

Ryan leaned on the counter. “I have questions.”

“So do I but I’ll let you go first.”

“Where do I fucking start? What even was that thing?”

“That, my friend, was a demon.”

“Like, a _demon_ demon?”

“A _demon_ demon. Like, the one that possesses people for shits and giggles.”

“Okay… Um, how did you find me, again?”

Shane shrugged. “I was trailing it. The demon, I mean. Had been for a while, actually, but I couldn’t seem to corner it somewhere in private. Then you guys ended up in that abandoned street, and I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“What did it want with me? What are you going to do about the body? What do you even _do_ for a living? You look like you live in your car.”

Shane cleared his throat. “Alright, how do I put this simply? You were extremely frightened near a demon. The demon sensed that and just… took advantage. Demons feed off of fear, literally. They find ways to frighten people and they carve their hearts out and eat them like bagels. That’s how they get stronger, more powerful. You're pretty damn lucky it was a weak demon. The strong ones aren't easy to exorcise.”

“ _Weak?_ You call that thing that lifted me off the ground with a single hand _weak?_ ”

“Well, to be fair, Ryan, you’re pretty small.”

“I’m average height, for your information.”

“Right, sure. As for the body, it’ll disintegrate by morning. Once you've been possessed, you're done for. Dead. Demons suck out all the life and energy from their host, and if you get to exorcise them they leave behind a very fragile corpse that doesn't take long to turn into dust. And to answer your third question, what does it look like I do for a living?”

“Hunt demons?” Ryan said mockingly.

“Yes, actually.”

A pause.

“You… hunt demons. For a living.”

“Yes, we’ve established that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. That’s me. Demon-hunter Shane Madej.”

“Unbelievable.” Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. The kettle began to whistle. He poured the water in a mug and dropped a tea bag in it. Shane took it gratefully and swished the bag around.

“I can prove it to ya,” he said, as a matter of fact. “I can show everything in the trunk of my car”—he began listing with his fingers—“ I’ve got gallons of holy water, a few guns, my trusty baseball bat, a ten-pound bag of salt, several books on demons in general, a latin dictionary, a journal with notes, some rosaries, a bible… I’ve got it all, baby.”

“Is that so.”

Shane nodded. He held up a finger as he reached into his pocket, and slid to Ryan a piece of paper. “That’s what I use to exorcise demons. This is what I used  to save your life. So do you believe me now?”

“I mean.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair as he read the paper. Well, he didn't exactly read it, just skimmed it, since it was in latin, save for a part that read _[insert demon’s name here]_. His head hurt. “I… I guess. I’m having a hard time processing this.”

Shane sipped his tea. “Now that you're done with interrogation, I’m going to ask _you_ some questions.” He looked at Ryan intently. “What did you see?”

“What do you mean?”

“You mentioned that you saw horns on the guy.  Did you really?”

Ryan frowned. “I… I did, but like, at times only. It had these horns that sprouted from its head like a ram, and its eyes were completely black. And— and when you were.. exorcising it, it got these black veins on its face and then they spread to the rest of its body. It was like flashes, because it looked completely normal at first, and then I blinked and they were gone, and then they were back. I don't know. It was weird.”

Shane was grinning, clearly impressed. “ _That_ is fucking incredible. Ryan Bergara, you have a goddamned gift, you know that?”

Ryan stepped back. Shane stood up from the chair.

“Ryan, you’re the only person I’ve ever met that has the ability to distinguish a demon from a human.”

“Wait, so you’re telling me you couldn't see it?”

“No.”

“How do you hunt demons if you can’t see them?”

“It’s the little things that give them away, like they’ll scowl at a rosary or twitch when you say things like ‘Jesus Christ.’ It’s a tedious job.”

“So why do you do it?”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

“Don’t you get scared?”

Shane laughed. “That’s not really an option for me.”

Ryan turned to put the kettle away and poured himself some coffee. It seemed Shane led a… very exciting life. Hunting demons and all. He considered his own life and couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

“And what do _you_ do for a living, huh?” Shane asked casually, walking around the tiny apartment.

“You know Buzzfeed? Yeah, I work there. I, uh, edit stuff. Articles, videos. It’s not very exciting. The pay isn't too good either”— he gestured grandiosely to the nondescript room— “as you can see. I’ve tried doing my own stuff, but it always gets rejected.”

Shane raised an eyebrow and bit the inside of his lip. He looked pensive.

“I’ve got a proposition for you, Ryan,” he said finally.

“Shoot.”

“I’ve been thinking about this since you said you could see demons, and I know this is something drastic, but think about it before you outright say no. How’d you like to hunt demons with me?”

Ryan choked on his coffee.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” he choked out.  Some coffee spilled on his hand when he slammed the cup down, bringing his free hand to his mouth. “I can’t. I have a life here, and I’m not just going to throw it all away to— to go off with some guy I just met, _to hunt demons_.”

Shane didn't seem deterred by the rejection. Instead he calmly sipped his tea, with an air of knowing something Ryan didn’t, which absolutely infuriated him, though he’d never admit it. 

“If there’s one thing that I’ve learned from this job is how to read seemingly insignificant details, how to infer, how to deduce. And I deduce that you're not exactly happy with your life. You’re struggling. People don't appreciate you. You're bored, broke, and, judging from the lack of pictures around the room and size of your apartment, lonely. You spend your days watching horror movies in an attempt to get a thrill, and, from the stack of crime thrillers on your shelf I can see that you like action and mystery. I dare say that you even _hate_ your life. Am I wrong, so far?”

All of this he said with no malice or accusation. Just as if he were merely stating a fact.

Ryan looked away from Shane ashamedly. Then he shook his head slowly. He had been pretty spot on, actually.

His taller companion hummed contently. “Think about it. Ryan Bergara, you're made for something better than this. If you come with me, you'll get all of that you're lacking— the thrill, the action. Everything. You have a gift. Put it to use in a way people can appreciate it.” He put his empty mug in the sink and stepped around a dumbstruck Ryan. He put his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He smiled wide. “And keep the shirt. It looks good on you.”

And with that, he was gone.


	2. You Think You Know So Much, But I Think You're Out Of Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane grinned. “So, first rule of demon-hunting, you need a thing.”
> 
> “A thing? Could you elaborate on that?”
> 
> “Yeah, like, uh… a trademark, y’know? Like, the Star Wars lightsaber. Or the sonic screwdriver from Doctor Who. Or the Jason machete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I decided to continue this. apparently a lot of people liked this and wanted me to continue this?? I really wasn't expecting that response but I am incredibly happy so many people liked it!! All of the comments of the last chapter really motivated me to keep writing this. (sorry for the delay of the chapter, I had midterms these past two weeks)
> 
> Chapter title from "The Touch" by Welshly Arms. the song kind of has the feel of this chapter lmao

The thing about being a light sleeper is that you rarely get a full night’s sleep without being woken by something silly, like a door opening or an annoying cat meowing outside your window. Pair that with Ryan’s borderline-masochistic avidity for gruesome horror movies and murder mysteries and you’ve got yourself someone who doesn't get more than three or four hours of sleep every night.

To Ryan, every creak was a murderous spirit, ever thump was a serial killer with an axe, every rumble was an alien ship landing to take him away and probe him. That was never true, of course; it was always just a result of his self-induced paranoia and overactive imagination.

Usually. This time, however, it wasn't just Ryan’s imagination.

Someone had broken into his apartment. 

What had half-woken him was a dull _clang_ and some light creaking which, he reasoned, could have been caused by practically anything in the street, but what fully jolted him out his sleep were the footsteps that followed the sounds. Footsteps that were clearly from inside the apartment.

Ryan sat upright in his bed, his heart thumping in his chest, his stomach filled with dread. He slowly stood from his bed and tiptoed across the room, over to the tiny fire extinguisher he kept for emergencies.

Holding the fire extinguisher like a weapon with his right hand, he pressed his back against the wall, inching towards the door. He locked it with shaky hands and inhaled. If he could survive getting stabbed by a demon the night before, he could survive a little intruder. Right?

Ryan listened quietly, even holding his breath without intending to, and his heart skipped a beat when he heard something that sounded like the fridge opening. He planned his next moves: he’d call the police, then—

The door opened abruptly, and Ryan stumbled away from it, screaming, holding the extinguisher over his shoulder—

“ _Jesus_ fucking Christ!”

“Morning, Ry.”

Ryan dropped his improvised weapon, breathing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking— Shane, what the hell are you doing here? How’d you get into my apartment?”

“The window, of course,” Shane responded as if it were something obvious. He leaned against the door frame, tilting his head so it wouldn’t hit the top, and held up a brown bag. “Brought you breakfast.” He quirked an eyebrow at the small fire extinguisher, which had rolled over and now lay harmless at his feet.

“Couldn’t you have knocked on the door or something like a _normal person_?” Ryan asked, irritated, as he retrieved it from the floor and propped it back up on the wall.

“Were you planning on attacking me with a fire extinguisher?” Amusement flashed in his eyes.

Ryan huffed. “No.” He shoved past the gangly intruder, purposely not looking at him so he couldn't see how embarrassed he actually was. “You left the fucking window open, you dick.”

“They wouldn't let me in,” Shane said, closing the window and sitting on the same stool he’d sat on the day before. There was an open beer on the countertop, which Ryan only just noticed was from _his_ stash, and Shane pulled it near him and just held it, as if he needed something to do with his hands. “I tried ringing one of those little buttons outside the gate. I tried for like five minutes and nothing, so I gave up and just climbed through the fire escape. Think you need to get your doorbell fixed. And while you're at it, the locks on your bedroom door and windows, too.”

“That doesn't make it okay to break into my home!”

“Well, your breakfast was getting cold. Did you want to eat some cold breakfast, Ryan?”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at him and snatched the bag from the table, maybe with more force than strictly necessary. “Where’d you get this?”

“The bistro in Sunset Avenue. Didn't know what you’d like, so I just got a sandwich and hoped for the best.”

Sure enough, inside the bag was a still-warm ham and cheese sandwich wrapped in a paper bearing the logo of the bistro. Ryan frowned, inspecting it as if it were something he'd never seen before.

“Oh, come on, I didn't poison it,” Shane joked. Ryan rolled his eyes but bit into it anyway. “How’s your wound?” He gestured to Ryan’s chest with the neck of the beer bottle and took a swig. ( _Jesus— who the hell drinks beer this early in the morning? Shane Madej, apparently,_ Ryan thought.)

“Still there. But— better, I guess.”

“That’s to be expected.” A beat. “Have you thought about what I told you?”

Ryan stopped mid-bite and raised an eyebrow. Realization quickly settled on his features like a blanket. “Oh, I see. You're trying to convince me to drop everything I’ve worked for and willingly get killed by a demon, with a sandwich.” He almost laughed at how stupid that sounded.

Chuckling, Shane knocked on the countertop. “Worth a try.”

“God, you're relentless.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I am. You doing anything today?”

“No,” Ryan said defiantly, crossing his arms, careful not to touch the stitches on his chest. The wound didn't hurt when he moved as long as he didn't do it too forcefully, but it was still sore to the touch.  “Why do you ask?”

There was a mischievous look on Shane's eyes that Ryan did _not_ like. “You ever shoot a gun before?”

 

———————————

 

The gravel made a satisfying sound under their boots as the pair unloaded a few boxes from the trunk of the car. Ryan took off his glasses before hauling a heavy box out. From inside the box emanated sounds of metal clinking, and from the one his taller companion carried came dull thuds and scraping against cardboard. Shane set his load down and rummaged around the front seat for a moment, emerging a second later with a pair of black sunglasses and a baseball cap. He  put the sunglasses on himself before tossing the hat to Ryan.

They'd ended up in a field just off Los Angeles, somewhere near the highway that Ryan had never been to. The drive there had taken little more than an hour, due to the traffic. It had mostly consisted of Ryan complaining just about anything that he could think of— the traffic, Shane's choice of music, his not knowing where they were headed to and how it could count as kidnaping, and _dammit Shane why would you mention guns_ — and Shane laughing, turning up the music louder, and perpetually saying “You'll see when we get there.” Murder was a thought that crossed Ryan's mind maybe once or twice (six times, actually), but he merely chalked it up to his paranoia, because it wouldn't make sense for Shane to kill him if he had just saved his life the day before. (Right?)

A cool breeze sent a shudder down Ryan’s spine. They'd walked a few meters away from the dirt road where the black Jeep was parked, now finding themselves in the middle of the damp, grassy field. Several bottles were placed in a line atop a long wooden fence that ended right next to a dense brush of trees.

“Did you set those up?” Ryan asked, nodding at the fence.

“Yep.”

Cautiously, Ryan opened his box to reveal an impressive collection of knives, daggers, and a shovel. He stared in amazement while Shane opened his own box. In the other box there was a handful of guns of various shapes and sizes— two revolvers, a shotgun, a regular pistol, and a _water gun_. There were some stray cartridges rolling around the bottom of the box and several smaller boxes of refills and a water bottle (presumably, holy water). Shane took a revolver and checked if it was loaded.

“You really weren't kidding when you said you had all this stuff,” Ryan said. He had the feeling he was doing something mildly illegal— which he probably was— but it wasn’t exactly a bad feeling. It was… kind of exciting, actually.

Shane shook his head. “Nope.” He held out the gun to Ryan, whose eyes widened and stepped away instinctively. “It’s not going to spontaneously shoot you, Ryan. It’s got the safety on.”

With slightly shaking hands, Ryan took the revolver in his hands. He turned it over and examined it. The fact that he could just kill Shane right here, right now, if he wanted to, scared him. 

“What exactly are we doing?”

“This is my last attempt to convince you about demon hunting,” Shane said, picking up his bat from the ground and a paper from his pocket. “You’re going to try out some stuff and, uh, I don't know, see if you like it. And if this doesn't work, I’ll leave you alone forever. I promise.”

Ryan took this in. He wasn't sure he never wanted to see Shane again, because as annoying as he was, he was interesting. He didn't meet interesting people very often. Of course, he didn't voice this out loud. “Alright.”

Shane grinned. “So, first rule of demon-hunting, you need a thing.”

“A thing? Could you elaborate on that?”

“Yeah, like, uh… a trademark, y’know? Like, the Star Wars lightsaber. Or the sonic screwdriver from Doctor Who. Or the Jason machete.”

“You have a thing?”

“My bat,” he said, holding it up. 

“You’re serious?” Ryan smiled involuntarily before he could stop himself. 

“Dead serious, baby.” 

“Can I see that?” He pointed to the bat. Shane nodded and tossed it to him. 

The bat was saturated in colorful stickers that overlapped each other, all bearing the names of different cities and states, some of them faded or torn, others tainted with traces of a disgustingly familiar liquid. Some had the years on them, the oldest one Ryan could make out being from 10 years ago. The tape at the handle was worn out and gray, and it was smudged with a brownish red color.

Ryan looked at Shane curiously. “They’re the places I’ve been to,” he explained, looking slightly embarrassed. (If Ryan found it amusing, well, that was only for him to know.) “I like to keep track. And— actually, I was just going to put a new one on it.”

He showed Ryan a little sticker that read “Los Angeles” in a fancy, blue font. “You can put it on it, if you want.”

Ryan stuck it somewhere between “Wisconsin” and “Las Vegas” and handed it back to Shane. 

“Its kind of silly, I know but—“

“No, its really not. Its actually pretty cool, if you asked me.”

Shane smiled brightly after a moment. Ryan looked away.

 

———————————-

 

“Try again,” Shane groaned exasperatedly, sighing loudly.

“Look— its not my fault I have shitty aim, alright! Besides, I told you I’ve never used a gun before!” Ryan shot back, waving his hand Shane, who ducked, covering his face.

“ _Don’t fucking point that thing at me!_ You know what—just— give it. You're gonna get one of us killed.”

Shane wrenched the pistol from Ryan’s hands and dropped it back in the box. He took the shotgun and chucked it at Ryan. “Last try. Concentrate.”

Two hours had passed. The sun lashed harshly against the pair, whose shirts stuck to their backs with sweat. Ryan had tried out all the guns in the box and tried to get a feel for them, but it hadn't exactly worked out. Shooting a gun was _nothing_ like in the movies. It’s so much easier in the movies.

First off, guns were way louder than he thought. Just after he fired the first shot he was left with a ringing in his ears which, Shane assured him, “he’d get used to.” Second, movies made firing guns look so smooth and easy, like a simple point and click. That was so incredibly wrong. When you fire a gun, there’s a kickback— a recoil, and depending on the gun it can be stronger or easier on the hands. By then his arms were hurting like a bitch. And finally, aiming. In movies, an inexperienced character is merely given gun and after two or three missed shots they're able to shoot expertly. Bullshit. Ryan hadn't hit a single bottle on the fence since they started.

“Shotguns are different from revolvers and pistols. You gotta hold ‘em with both hands,” Shane said casually, as if he were just commenting on the game. He had his hands shoved into his jean pockets, and a cloud was just passing over the sun in that moment. It was pleasant for a moment.

“Like this?” 

“Ryan, it’s not a fucking Glock. If you hold it like that the recoil’s gonna hit you square in the chest, and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.” Shane stepped closer to Ryan. “You gotta turn your body to the side”— he moved Ryan sideways by grabbing him by the arms— “and it’s gotta be firm on the shoulder like this”—he placed the bottom of the shotgun on Ryan’s shoulder— “and your hands gotta be like this—“ he slid Ryan’s hand along the barrel of the gun to the fore-end. “Try that.”

Ryan was, admittedly, a little disoriented from how much Shane had shifted him around, but aimed at a bottle. Predictably, he missed, and his shoulder hurt now. He glanced at Shane, who was frowning determinedly. He sighed.

“Look, Shane,” Ryan began disappointedly, lowering the gun, “we’re not getting anywhere with this.”

“Try it again. I know you can do it.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” he said dryly, “but I’m done. Seriously.”

“Try it again.”

“No. I’m not doing this.”

“Try it again!”

Their bickering escalated slowly, getting louder and louder, and they kept inching closer and closer until they were red faced and sweating and Ryan had to crane his neck up uncomfortably to look at Shane. Ryan shoved Shane, who just shoved him right back.

“ _Just fucking shoot, goddamnit_!”

Ryan cocked the gun without thinking.

“Shut up, Shane!”

A gunshot, the sound of glass breaking, then silence.

Ryan’s hands were tingling, his heart going a mile a minute, eyes wide open. And Shane was fucking _beaming,_ that bastard.

 _“Holy shit,”_ Ryan whispered.

“Told ya,” Shane said smugly.  He pushed his sunglasses up and raised his eyebrows. “Cool, huh?”

 

—————————————————

 

As it turned out, the shotgun was good fit for Ryan. Shane forced him to shoot several more times, and though he didn't exactly hit every bottle, he did hit a couple, and it was much better than the other guns. Though holding so much power in his hands was a little unsettling, Ryan was absolutely fascinated. But, they eventually stopped, because Shane didn't want Ryan to become a little too “trigger-happy,” whatever that meant. 

The experience, in general, had given Ryan a sense of confidence and bravery he didn't usually feel. He didn't feel scared, for once, because he knew that he could protect himself with the shotgun if anything were to happen. With every shot he fired, a surge of adrenaline ran through his veins, the good kind of adrenaline, the kind that was borderline addictive. (So maybe _that’s_ what Shane meant by trigger-happy.) It was strangely empowering and comforting.

Shane was visibly pleased with the outcome, but he still wanted Ryan to try out the knives and daggers.

Ryan had immediately grabbed the knife that stuck out the most from the box. The blade was silver curved like a wave, and it had a brass handle with an intricate criss-crossing pattern and gold circle at the very end.

“Where do you even get these?” he asked, pressing the tip of his finger to the sharp end. They were near the trees now, under the shade.

“Well,” Shane said, scratching his head, “I just, sort of, find them, I guess. The shovel I bought, of course. But the rest are just things demons leave behind. The one you're holding right now I got from last night, actually.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows and stared at the weapon in his hands. Damn. He blinked at it owlishly.

“How ironic,” he muttered. He squinted up at the sky through the cluster of leaves, thinking of ways to change the topic of conversation. Last night was something he'd rather not think about. “So, uh, how long have you been doing this whole, uh, demon hunting thing?”

Shane swung at an imaginary baseball (or demon’s head, maybe). “How long do you think?”

Ryan frowned. “I don't know,” he said. “If the stickers on your bat are any indication, I’d say ten years?”

He laughed. “Observant, I like that. Close, but no. Thirteen years.”

“ _Thirteen?_ How old are you?” Ryan asked incredulously.

“I’m 31.”

His mouth hung slightly ajar.

“Oh, come on. I'm not _that_ old. It's the 21st century, people don't die at 40 anymore. I'm still pretty young. I mean, how old are _you_?”

“27.” Ryan did the math in his head. “You've been doing this since you were 18?”

“You really know your subtraction.”

“Shane that's— that's almost half of your life.”

“Well, if you put it that way, then yeah, I guess.” He grunted as he crouched and sat on the dirt, leaning against a tree. Ryan followed suit.

“So you never went to college?”

Shane mumbled something under his breath. “So I guess we’re doing interrogations again, huh? Alright.” He cleared his throat. “No. I never went to college. It's not as if I could’ve gotten accepted into one, anyways.”

“And that's what you wanted to do with your life? Hunt demons and shit? And your family’s okay with that? I’m sure they must've wanted you to go to college.”

The taller man observed him with half-lidded, piercing eyes, his face guarded. Normally Ryan looked away when people stared, but this time he stared right back. Suddenly he wished he could read minds.

“My parents don't know,” he said finally. He turned to face the particularly interesting tree rooted just across him. He had a very strong profile. “They never knew. They died before I started doing all of… this.”

Ryan took this in. “Oh, shit, man, I’m sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “How did they die, if you don’t, uh, mind me asking?”

“Car accident.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, don't be. Such is life.” 

It was clear he didn't want to talk about it, so Ryan didn't push further. 

 

——————————————————————-

 

Shane had let him keep the shotgun and dagger, and said he’d give Ryan a week to think about the offer. 

“I’ll come back in a week,” he’d said with a bitter smile after dropping Ryan off at his apartment complex.  “I won’t force you to come with me, but I want you to keep the gun and the dagger. I think you need ‘em more than me.”

Ryan watched him leave through the window.

 

——————————————————————

 

He tried not to think about it. He really did. It was ridiculous. Absurd. Ludicrous. He kept editing other people's videos. He kept watching horror movies, and reading crime thrillers, and eating takeout. He kept being paranoid. He went on with his life. The first day passed, the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth.

On the seventh day, he picked up the shotgun and just held it for a minute. Then he put it back down and went to work.

 _God_ , quitting his job felt _so fucking good_.

He turned in his key to his landlord, an uptight, selfish man, who gave him until the end of the day to take his shit and leave. Not that there was much to pack, anyway.

Packing his belongings put Ryan into a sort of trance. He moved robotically, throwing as many clothes as he could fit in a dusty suitcase that he had bought years ago for trip that never happened. He shoved his favorite books and movies in separate backpack, and on a second thought, the journals he’d filled with all his ideas for a show that never got approved, too. He put his passport, his ID’s, and every other document that could identify him in a box and shoved it deep inside his suitcase. And after a long internal debate, he stuffed his sound recorder and spirit box in his backpack. He wasn't thinking. If he did, he knew he would regret everything.

A loud honk on the street startled Ryan. He scrambled to put his glasses on, then shuffled over to the window and looked down to find Shane leaning against his car, wearing those stupid sunglasses he probably thought made him look cool. He uncrossed his arms to wave at Ryan. 

“Come up,” he called out. And the prick literally did exactly that, climbing up the fire escape and giving Ryan a cheeky grin once he reached the window.

“Can I come in?” Shane asked, feigning decency.

Ryan shot him an annoyed look but stepped aside to let him enter. 

“Thank you,” he said, pushing his long legs through the ledge. “Last time I ask: have you thought ab—“

“That’s the thing,” Ryan interrupted, “I didn't think. At all.” He sat on his suitcase, grunting as he zipped it up (with considerable difficulty).

Shane shut his mouth and scanned the room, frowning like he couldn't believe his eyes. “You’re— you’re actually coming?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Deduction. You tell me.”

“Really? Just like that? Don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous?”

“You’re starting to sound like you don't want me to come. And for the record, I absolutely think this is completely ridiculous.”

The taller man laughed and passed a hand through his blonde hair. “No, no, I want you to come. I really do. It’s just that…  I don’t know, I wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.”

“Neither did I.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

Ryan put on the backpack and grabbed the last two beers left in the fridge. He shrugged. “Like I said, I wasn’t thinking.” He pressed a beer into Shane’s hand.

“And— and you're not going to regret it?” Shane was beginning to sound hopeful.

“I don’t know. But it wouldn’t matter if I did anyways. I just quit my job this morning and we have about another”— he glanced at his watch— “30 minutes before my landlord literally fucking kicks me out.”

Shane merely stood still and incredulous like a statue. He snapped out of it a second later, though, and grabbed Ryan’s suitcase and weapons, which were laying carelessly on the kitchen counter. “You, uh, have everything you need?” The tone of his voice indicated he still couldn't believe Ryan had said yes. 

The keys jingled and clattered loudly on the counter as Ryan dropped them. That was enough of an answer.

“Let's get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”

They stumbled down to Shane’s car while Shane complained about how heavy Ryan’s shit was and _what are you even carrying Ryan did you pack fucking rocks._

As soon as the door shut, Ryan impulsively rolled down the window and stuck out his finger at the old building and Shane laughed. The pair clinked their beer bottles as they drove away. 

It took all of Ryan’s will not to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is slowburn shyan, and its more centered on an actual plot than romance, so if you came for mostly romance I can't assure that you'll be exactly satisfied, sorry (but its going to be there). also though I didn't respond to the majority of the comments in the last chapter, I can promise everyone who commented that I re-read your comment at LEAST three (3) times, because I was genuinely surprised someone liked it enough to comment
> 
> BIG REMINDER THAT THIS IS FICTION okay I tried to do some research and get the stuff about guns accurate and the stuff towards the end relatively realistic but like I've said before, I'm not an expert in any of this
> 
> If anyones interested, I'm apatheticallyromantic on Tumblr. Anyways I hope y'all liked this lmao gonna go cry myself 2 sleep now 
> 
> If you find yourself at fault with anything in my writing (typos, plot holes, etc.) please let me know! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated!


	3. Don't Be Cautious, Don't Be Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several firsts in this chapter: first demon, first wheeze, first ghost discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yall,, sorry for the delay but I had a lot of writer's block while writing this and when I was halfway through I decided to check the outline I have for this fic and I realized I strayed veeeeery far from what I had originally wanted so I was like FUCK ME and I struggled to get it more or less back on track. Also, it took me forever to find a video in which they talk about the spirit box and for some reason I couldn't find one even tho its in like. every fckn episode. Also the editing took forever bc every time id be like,, should I put "I'm okay" or "I'm fine". and id debate it for like an hour
> 
> Anyways thats just my shitty excuse for being lazy as shit ;;;;)))))
> 
> uuhhh tw for violence and a little body gore?? its not too bad, but just in case it makes anyone uncomfortable be aware of that
> 
> chapter title from COPYCAT by billie eilish

“See anything?” Shane inquired dully, leaning a bit too close to the edge for Ryan to be comfortable. His absurdly long legs were hanging off, scraping the brick exterior of the building.

Taking a step back, Ryan made a face somewhere between worry and disbelief, and clenched his fists. His hands and feet stung from merely looking down. He breathed out. “No, not yet.”

The taller man stood up and walked along the ledge like it was a tightrope, using his bat for balance. There was a sudden gust of wind, and for a split second, it seemed he lost his footing. In a rush, Ryan gasped sharply and stuck out his hand to take hold of Shane’s own and to stop him from falling. He tugged him away from the edge of the building. Shane laughed.

“You dick, stop laughing! You almost fell!” Ryan huffed. 

“I’m okay, little guy,” Shane said through fits of laughter and let go of his hand after squeezing it softly, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his palms. A scowl settled on Ryan’s face. He kneeled down to observe the people below roam about. From where he was, they looked as tiny as mice.

Being on the lookout for demons had been something Ryan had expected to do, given the job title. But the job title did _not_ imply walking on rooftops like fucking _Spiderman_ or something.

“Do you realize how fucking dangerous this is?” Ryan had questioned as they climbed up the bars on the wall that functioned as a  ladder to get to the roof, his voice revealing how opposed to this he was.

And Shane had laughed, almost cynically, and responded, “Everything about this job is dangerous. What’s a little height to some demons?”

After two days of being on the road to God-knows-where, bickering every other minute had been inevitable, but when they weren’t bickering about petty matters, Ryan mostly listened to Shane talk nonstop about his demon-hunting experiences, like the man had just bottled them up for years and was eager to finally be able to talk about it to someone who would listen. He told Ryan about his most memorable demons over the years, including one he exorcised at least five times until it had finally worked, one who almost killed him on New Year’s and would have succeeded had it not been for some fireworks startling it and allowing Shane to get the upper hand, and even one he had to seduce at a bar to corner it.

(“You seduced a demon?” Ryan had asked incredulously. “How’d you manage that?”

“What can I say? I’m irresistible, baby,” Shane had joked, wiggling his eyebrows. “No, but seriously, you’d be surprised at the amount of demons who give in to lust.” At that, Shane had winked at him, and Ryan had felt his face heat up slightly as he laughed.)

Over those past two days, Ryan had also had quite some time to process the consequences of his decision. _It’s like being grounded,_ he’d thought bitterly _, like I picked a fight and now I have to think about what I did._

Though he felt no real compunction from the radical (and, admittedly, somewhat stupid) choice to risk his life chasing demons with a complete stranger, regret constantly loomed over his shoulder. It was a shadow that didn't belong to him but followed him everywhere he went, one that disappeared if he shined light directly onto it, only to return like a bad omen a soon as he turned away. Ryan had the vague impression that he was running away from it, that it was going to catch up to him someday, and it was going to fuck him up _badly_ when it did.

Someday. But until then, he was going to enjoy it.

Shane was crouched down, tying his bootlaces. “I used to be afraid of heights, you know,” he confessed suddenly.

Police sirens briefly broke the monotone rumble of the city before they faded away. Ryan leaned against a gray pipe and crossed his arms. He scrunched up his nose. “You, a ten-feet-tall man used to have acrophobia? I find that a little hard to believe, big guy.”

“I did!” The taller man straightened himself up, looking so tall and lanky that it was as if the wind were about to carry him away at any moment. “I was terrified of heights when I was a kid, and I was actually one of the shortest in my class until, like, the tenth grade. I was a late bloomer.” He shrugged. “Anyways, this one time, my dad took me to a theme park for my birthday, and he took me to the tallest fucking roller coaster there, and I almost shit myself just from looking at it. 

“So I tell him, I don't wanna get on, ‘cause I’m scared, and he looks me dead in the eye and says,”— he changed to a gruff voice—“‘Shane, you're gettin’ on that fuckin’ roller coaster.’ And we get on. And the thing’s going up and up and up, and by the time we reach the top I was crying.”

“Crying?”

“Honest to god, real man tears. Moral of the story, by the time I got off that thing, I wasn't scared anymore.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Oh my God.” Ryan snorted. “And you're telling me this because…?”

“Because you’re terrified of heights.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re lying, but I’ll let it slide.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, not wanting to argue. They both knew Shane was right, but he’d literally rather die than admit it. 

Another hour passed in relative silence until Ryan finally saw it.

A couple of buildings away, a woman appeared on the roof. She looked normal, at first, with her ripped jeans and dark hair tied back in a tight ponytail. The sunset was directly behind her. She put a cigarette in her mouth, and when she cupped her hands around the lighter to light it, she turned just enough for a part of her face to be visible. Initially, Ryan hadn’t spared her a second glance, but he blinked and suddenly her pretty face was no longer a pretty face, and instead it was cracked bone and rotting flesh and pointed horns.

Dread pooled in his stomach like water so cold it burned.

 _“Shane,”_ he hissed, keeping his voice low out of fear of being heard. Startled by the sudden sound of his name, Shane snapped out of his daze with a few blinks and a shake of his head. 

“Yeah?”

Ryan swallowed. “I think I see one.”

“Oh, shit.” He stood, stretched his back, and cracked his knuckles. “Where?”

Ryan beckoned with his head to the woman a few buildings away.

Shane squinted at her silhouette through the warm rays of light. “What do you see?”

Ryan frowned. “I can’t see her eyes, but her face is like… decomposing. Like a zombie.” He glanced at her, and he thought he could see her staring at them. A shiver ran through his spine. “She doesn't look like the one that attacked me. She looks worse. She’s got the horns, too. But bigger.” _Oh, God, she’s staring._

“Yeah, that’s definitely a demon. And it’s one of the stronger ones, too, goddammit,” Shane muttered, almost to himself. “Alright. You got your things?” 

The dagger Shane had given to him was strapped around his thigh in a leather holster, like something straight out of a movie. Its weight was comforting, and it gave him a slight sense of security. (Plus, it looked fucking cool.) He patted it to make sure it was still there. He picked up the shotgun which lay forgotten on the floor.

“Remember what we have to do?”

Ryan made a vague sound of affirmation; Shane had reiterated the plan and the basic things he should know approximately a million times in those 48 hours. 

They’d find a way to get the demon in a spot where it couldn’t escape or harm them, meaning, on the floor. Then, they’d make it state its name by any means possible, which in the vast majority of cases involved something that could be considered a form of torture. It was a bit morally wrong, yes, but it was okay if it was for a good cause and the being they were “torturing” was quite literally the physical embodiment of evil. Right? Finally, they’d exorcise it and take whatever valuables it left behind. (Again, a little morally wrong, but not really.)

There were also some things he’d learned that were oddly specific, but would be helpful in the long-run, according to Shane. If confronted by a demon, he’d always have a little time to escape due to the fact that they liked to spite their prey by getting them as scared as possible just before carving their hearts out, because apparently demons liked small talk. How polite of them. Another thing that would buy him time was playing “hard to get,” as in, challenging the demon by pretending to not be afraid. He should also know that demons never travelled in groups, so he shouldn't have to worry about coming face to face with more than one at a time. And, if the situation ever arose, he should be aware that if he was having sex with someone with a cold vagina or cold semen, that was a sign that they were a demon, and he should exorcise them immediately. (How Shane got this bit of information, Ryan didn't want to know.)

“Ready?” Shane asked.

His head nodded yes, but his brain was screaming _no_. Shane grinned fiercely, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

“Go for the head.”

Ryan blinked. Then, trying not to show how taken aback he was, he slowly turned to aim. His hands felt prickly and weak as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet seemed to miss her completely from the way she didn't flinch, but her gaze wavered to  look down at the stain of black that began to manifest on her shoulder. If she’d had any skin around her mouth, she’d probably have been baring her teeth like an animal. Instead, she tilted her head curiously and began moving towards them, her pace picking up with every step she took, and soon enough she was on a full-on sprint, and Ryan’s heart sped up along, too.

He shot a scared look at Shane.

“Seems like we still need to work on your aim,” he said. “But it’s gotten way better, I’ll give you that.”

She swiftly jumped from one building to another. Ryan gaped.

Shane shook his silver flask with mild nonchalance. “Should be enough.”

Another building. “Are you _seeing_ this!” Ryan squawked. He tried to shoot again, but this time it didn't even brush her side. Another. Another. Another. 

And then it jammed. 

Ryan swatted at the barrel desperately. A small wave of panic coursed through his body. _C’mon, c’mon, work you shitty gun._ He hissed and dropped it, knowing that he wasn't going to fix it anytime soon. His companion appeared completely unaware of Ryan’s panicking, his attention fixed on taking off his jean jacket and stretching his arms, like he was getting ready for a basketball game and not an exorcism.

“My gun’s jammed,” Ryan said more confidently than he felt.

“Is it? Oh, I’ll fix it later.”

He was distressingly calm for the situation they were in. The last few rays of sunlight caught on the side of his face and gave him a pleasant glow, a soft breeze ruffling his hair. For a second, Ryan wondered how Shane managed to look as out of place as he felt.

He blinked back to reality, daring to glance at the demon. His stomach dropped. 

“Shane, it’s fucking jumping across buildings.” His voice was barely level as he glared at Shane, who merely hummed. “Shane, that’s not fucking normal!”

“Demons aren’t normal.”

Ryan’s eyes bulged. “ _How are you not freaked out?_ I’m about to shit myself!”

“Well, let’s hope not.” Shane held up his bat. “‘Cause it’s right here.”

There was the whistle of wind breaking and Shane stumbled to the side, but quickly regained his posture. Ryan staggered back with a whimper. Up close, the demon was even more horrifying. Its rotting face was only just held together by stringy pieces of flesh, with sunken, black eyes. The gaps allowed for glimpses inside it, but all that could be seen was an empty pit.

It ducked briskly when Shane swung at it once again, and as it did so it socked him in the jaw.

“ _Son of bitch,_ ” Shane grunted, “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

Shane swatted at it again, and again, left and right, and with each attempt it moved further and further away until it suddenly grabbed the bat with an iron grip and tossed it aside as if it were trash. It yanked Shane by the hair and threw him against the dirty, gray rooftop floor. He landed with an aborted cry. 

Every cell in Ryan’s body was screaming at him to move, to help, to run, to do _something_ , but his feet remained glued to the floor, his limbs stiff, his breath staggered. He flinched as the demon kicked Shane in the side several times, sending him sprawling across the roof. Satisfied upon seeing Shane inert, moaning at its feet, the demon snapped its head to Ryan. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

By the time it had reached him, its face had somehow contorted back to human and Ryan had backed away inch by inch until he bumped into the ledge. He turned his head to the side, grimacing, waiting for impact. He felt one of the demon’s hands grab his face, and he only squeezed his eyes shut harder. The other snaked around his thigh and took hold of the dagger he’d completely forgotten he had. _Fucking idiot._

Ryan tried to pull away, scratching at the demon’s hand and squirming, but it had an iron grip on him, and it only let go of his jaw to grasp his right arm and harshly twist it far and fast enough to hear a _pop_ and render it painfully useless. The cold hand was back on his face.

_"Fuck!”_

He forced himself to open his eyes through the pain. The demon stared him down intensely, unblinking. Though he was tempted to close his eyes again, he didn’t. He blinked back a few tears, his left hand weakly holding on to the demon’s.

His thoughts were running a mile a minute. How did Shane do it? How did he get out of these situations alive? How did he keep his calm?— wait.

Maybe he just had to show he wasn't afraid. 

“So you’re the little shit that shot me,” it said, head tilted, eyes narrowed.

Or at least pretend he wasn’t. 

Ryan gulped. “Yeah, that’s right.”

It chuckled. “You shouldn't have done that. You and your boyfriend have no idea what you’re in for.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he said shakily, “and I’m not scared of you.”

The demon quirked an eyebrow. “That’s cute.”

As they spoke, Ryan spotted Shane over its shoulder, wobbling himself upright. He winced, holding his side. They locked eyes briefly, and Shane nodded as if to say _I’m okay._

He inhaled slowly to calm himself.

“You want my heart, right?”

This seemed to disconcert the demon, whose cool facade cracked for an instant to let confusion seep through. 

“Maybe so.”

“Then just fucking _take_ it already. _God_ ,”— it twitched— “what’s taking you so long?”

Bluffing and putting his life on the line was a shitty, terrible, and downright stupid idea, but if it bought Shane some time to recover, then so be it. Besides, it seemed to be working.

Red, pointed nails began to dig into Ryan’s jaw. His knees buckled, and he dropped into a sitting position. The demon shoved his head back onto the ledge abruptly. 

“If you insist,” it said through gritted teeth. 

Ryan was absolutely terrified out of his skin, but he refused to let it show. He struggled to keep his face as impassive as he could, despite his heart giving him away.

It brandished the knife dramatically in the air with the sole purpose of taunting him. Its face reverted to its real form. Ryan let out a sound of disgust.

“The hell you looking at?” it growled.

“Your real face. It’s hideous.”

“My _what_?” It lowered the dagger unconsciously.

Ryan took a steadying breath. “Your real face, your demon face, whatever you call it. It’s fucking hideous.”

The demon moved its head slightly closer to Ryan’s.

“You can see me?”

“Yeah, yeah, your— face, its like— rotting. And— and your horns. They're some of the ugliest I’ve ever seen.”

Maybe he was getting a little carried away with his bluff. Whatever. Too late to turn back now.

The demon appraised him, following his eyes as they trailed up to its horns. Frowning, it allowed its grip on him to loosen.

“That’s impossible. You’re lying,” it said, but it was obvious its thoughts were elsewhere.

There was a loud hissing, from either the demon, the holy water burning its back, or both. Smoke wafted through the air, slapping Ryan in the face as the demon let go to attack Shane. It smelled like nothing.

A small clatter among the chaos that was unfolding before him indicated Ryan that the demon had dropped the dagger, and he scrambled to get ahold of it, even with his throbbing, injured arm that he couldn't quite move.

Shane splashed the demon with more water. It shrieked angrily, holding its awful hands to its grotesque face. 

“You alright?” Shane called out as he took the brief opportunity to bring down his bat on its head. 

“Yeah!” Ryan responded. The demon was on the floor, growling, slowly regaining its posture. He stepped over to it, raising his left hand, holding the dagger up high. Shane nodded encouragingly.

In his mind, he’d already brought it down on its back, and it was bleeding black and they'd beat it. In reality, he didn't move. The demon had glanced back at him, looking as human as it had before, snarling and looking bruised in the face. 

“Do it, Ryan!”

But he couldn’t. His mind couldn't process the being in front of him as a demon, and instead he could only see it as a woman who lay injured before him. After a beat, she— _it—_ moved to the ledge and ran along it, narrowly avoiding a blow from Shane’s bat.

“ _Donec iterum conveniant, fatidicus,”_ it said before stepping over the edge, disappearing from view completely.

“No!” 

The two men ran after it, but by then it had already camouflaged itself within the crowd. 

“Yeah, you better run!” Ryan shouted, then recoiled because his arm hurt. “Fuckin’ coward.”

He turned to Shane, a nervous smile on his face, only to see that his companion was glowering. 

“You fucking let it go!” he snapped. The smile on Ryan’s face dropped. “I gave you the opportunity to have at it, and you blew it. You had the knife— right there! Its back was turned to you— for fuck’s sake, it was on the goddamn ground!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Ryan frowned.

“This is the first fucking time I _do_ something like this, so I’m fucking sorry if things didn't go as planned,” he spat back. “It looked human! How was I supposed top stab it knowing I was stabbing a person?”

“Its a demon! You were going to stab a demon, not a person!”

“Well, it sure as hell looked like one! Shane, I’m not a sociopath! I have a conscience!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't listen to your conscience so much.”

They glared at each other, fuming in place, Shane trying not to show how much his sides ached, Ryan pretending his arm wasn't hurting like a bitch. He must've made some kind of show, however, because Shane noticed.

“Let me see your arm,” he said finally. 

“I’m fine.”

“Let me see it.” 

Clearly, Shane wouldn't take no for an answer, so Ryan reluctantly turned to the side.

Shane examined his arm, running his fingers through Ryan’s shoulder. “Does it hurt here?”

“ _Ah-ah, ow—_ yes _.”_ He grimaced.

“Okay,” he said. “You’ve dislocated your arm. What I’m gonna do is I’m gonna pull it, and its gonna hurt, but it'll feel a lot better as soon as I do it, alright?”

Ryan made a noise of vague affirmation. 

“One, two—“

Shane yanked his arm harshly, and Ryan yelped. Instantly, a wave of relief washed over him. He moved his arm slowly in a circle, rubbing his sore shoulder.

“Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” 

They made a motion to leave. As he picked up the shotgun from the floor, Shane frowned. 

“What about you?” Ryan asked.

“Hm?”

“Your side. Seems like that demon kicked you pretty hard.”

“I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

“You sure?”

Shane forced a smile. “Yeah.”

 

———————————————————————

 

The motel was bleak and murky, but it was cheap enough and would have to do for the night. Slovenly though they looked, the clerk remained unperturbed as they hobbled through the sliding doors, lugging their baggage behind them.

“Room for one—two, please,” Shane said at the counter.

The clerk began typing into her computer. “How long will you be staying?”

“Just tonight.”

The steady clacking of her long acrylic nails on the keyboard seemed too loud for the mostly empty reception. 

“Single?”

“Yes.”

 _“Double,”_ Ryan cut in, raising an eyebrow. 

The clerk looked at the two men. “Double, then.”

“Yes,” Shane said. 

“Name?”

“C.C. Tinsley,” he said automatically, reaching into his pocket. He glanced at Ryan, who was about to say something, but was shut up by Shane stepping on his foot inconspicuously.  “And— uh, D- Dan Cooper.” Ryan shot him a dirty look and kicked him back, but kept quiet nonetheless.

Shane paid in cash, the clerk gave them their room key, and said under her breath something about enjoying their stay.

Ryan waited until they were in their room. “What the hell was that?”

Shane set his duffel bag down on the bed furthest from the door. The bed creaked as he sat and began to untie his boots. 

“I honestly kind of forgot you were with me,” he said. “I usually just get a single bed. If it bothered you so much, I’ll be extra sure to say _double_ next time.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and began unpacking. “Not that, you idiot. I meant the fake names.”

His companion paused for a moment. When looked up before continuing, he had that guarded look on his face again, the one with the stoic, half-lidded eyes. 

“It’s for safety reasons. Y’know. In case a demon catches my name and decides to find me and kill me in my sleep. And since you’re so paranoid, I gave you a fake name, too.”

Ryan was too tired to give this much thought, so he decided to believe Shane. “If anything,” he muttered, “that only makes me _more_ paranoid. And by the way, C.C. Tinsley and Dan Cooper are the worst fake names I’ve ever heard.”

He put his spirit box aside to reach the clothes at the bottom of the bag.

“C.C. Tinsley is a great name, and I didn't have much time to think of one for you,” Shane replied defensively.

“C.C. Tinsley sounds like a sleazy fictional detective from the 60’s.”

Shane’s lips quirked up. “Really.”

“Yeah, like the ones with the trench coat and the little hat? Like that.” Ryan laughed, picturing Shane in said ensemble. 

“Alright, smart guy, if you're so good at fake-name-picking—“

“Oh, you bet I'm good. I got a PhD in fake-name-picking.”

Shane snorted. “A PhD?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I majored in fake-name-picking and graduated at the top of my class.”

“Well enlighten me. What’s a fake name worthy of your PhD?”

Ryan thought for a moment. “Ricky Goldsworth.”

Shane laughed loudly. “ _Ricky Goldsworth?_ That’s even worse than Dan Cooper!”

“It’s a badass name!”

“It sounds incredibly fake. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Uhh… Rya— Rick— Ricky… Gold…sworth? Yeah, that sounds right.’”

Ryan wheezed. “Still better than C.C. Tinsley and Dan Cooper,” he said pointedly, picking up the spirit box and shoving it back in the bag.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what? This?” He held up the box. Shane nodded. 

Ryan went around the bed and sat on the side where he could face Shane. 

“It’s a spirit box.”

“It looks like a radio.”

“Uh-huh. It’s kind of like a radio. Basically, it scans through radio channels at a very fast rate, and every two-tenths of a second, a channel’s gonna be skipped through, which will produce white noise that spirits can manipulate to to talk to us. I’ve—

“Wait, wait,” Shane held up a hand and crossed his arms. “You’re not telling me you believe in ghosts, are you?”

“Don’t tell me _you_ don’t.” Ryan frowned.

“You’re joking, right?” Seeing how Ryan didn't react, he groaned. “Ryan, ghosts don’t exist.”

“Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t!”

“Shane, there is an unmeasurable amount of evidence that ghosts exist.”

“Most of that ‘evidence’ bullshit! All those pictures and videos you see on the internet are photoshopped!”

“Maybe most of it is, but not _all_ of it,” Ryan said defiantly. “I caught a ghost on camera.”

Shane gave him a bored look. “I don’t even know what you think you caught on camera and I already know it was just the wind.”

Ryan scoffed. “I was on a _cruise,_ in the _bathroom._ ”

“Care to tell me what happened?”

“My toothpaste fell from the sink, in a way—“

“Seriously?” Shane was laughing a loud, breathy laugh, his shoulders shaking. “Your— your toothpaste falls, and the first thing you think is, ‘It was a g- g- ghost!’”

Despite himself, Ryan laughed too. “You have to see the video! It’s compelling evidence! It’s what made me believe in ghosts.”

“Gravity. It’s compelling evidence of gravity. You believe in gravity.”

“I believe in ghosts _and_ gravity, and in many other things.” Ryan stood up, and picked up his clothes. He shoved his spirit box far down his bag. “What about you? You must believe in something.”

A pause.

“I believe in science,” Shane said, “not the supernatural.”

“Demons are supernatural,” Ryan said pointedly, “and if you hunt them down it’s ‘cause you believe in them.”

“I believe in demons because I have to, not because I want to.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Ryan nodded and locked himself in the tiny bathroom.

By the time he had finished showering, Shane was fast asleep, an open book on his chest rising and falling in tune with his breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive said before but ill say it again: don't take any of the medical stuff here and use it irl. there's going to be a lot of 'dealing incorrectly with injuries' on here. I do try to make things as accurate as possible but this is fiction and not real life. also, I've had the good fortune of never having severely injured my arms, so I apologize if the way its described is not very accurate. (my legs, tho, thats another story lmao).
> 
> the chapter count is 10, but it might be more depending on how well I stick to my outline. (also do yall like that thing I do where I put a song as a mood?? I'm reading a book where every chapter is a song title that has to do with the chapter, and I really liked the idea.)
> 
> If you find yourself at fault with anything in my writing, please lmk! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> depending on the reaction I get on this I might turn it into a full-on fic. I got some ideas, but first I want to see if people like it.
> 
> disclaimer: I am by no means an expert on medical things or getting stitches. I drew a little from my own experience, but please remember this is fiction written by an unprofessional. Also, I'm not an expert on demons either, and the latin part is literally just google translated. its completely bullshitted, so don't think its too deep or anything lmao
> 
> Anyways, tell me if you guys are interested in seeing more of this! kudos and comments really motivate me <3
> 
> If you find yourself at fault with anything in my writing (typos, plot holes, characterization), please let know! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated!


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